


Pas de Deux

by Ladybug_21



Category: London Spy, Swan Lake (Bourne)
Genre: (Is Alex Turner Ever NOT Angst-Ridden?), Ballet, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:54:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25324984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladybug_21/pseuds/Ladybug_21
Summary: Alex takes Danny to the ballet. Feelings ensue.
Relationships: Danny Holt/Alex Turner
Kudos: 6





	Pas de Deux

**Author's Note:**

> This, apparently, is what happens when you get a bit of Tchaikovsky stuck in your head while out for a run, and suddenly are hit with the lightning-bolt revelation that Alex Turner is literally just the spy version of the Prince from Matthew Bourne's _Swan Lake_. For those of you who haven't seen Bourne's [_Swan Lake_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rQsECoq9XGM), I *highly* recommend it—and no, just revisiting the stunning [final scene](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=989pUycUqAg) of _Billy Elliott_ doesn't count. If Alex and Danny give you a ton of feels, there's a 99.9% chance that you will have just as many feels about the Prince and his Swan, and taking two hours to watch the full ballet is definitely worth it.
> 
> I feel I owe a special shout-out here to [april_rainer (tom_bedlam)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tom_bedlam) for introducing me to both of these amazing fandoms, among so many others, over the course of a wonderful friendship. As I believe you put it when you first convinced me to watch this ballet with you, however many years ago, "Bourne doesn't choreograph dance, he choreographs _characters_." I'm so incredibly glad that you won my interest over with that description. And I'm so grateful that you were willing to put up with probably three or four months of my intense _Swan Lake_ feels thereafter, just as you're currently fielding all of my screaming about _London Spy_.
> 
> I obviously don't own any rights to either _London Spy_ or Bourne's _Swan Lake_.

Alex's heart sank the second he recognised Frances's handwriting on the embossed envelope, but he tore it open anyway.

_Happy Birthday, Alistair. Since I suspect you probably are tired of receiving books as gifts every year, I thought you might appreciate something rather different. The tickets enclosed can be exchanged, if you are busy; or refunded, if you are not interested. Please enjoy._

Alex scowled as he examined the two tickets to the ballet that were enclosed inside the card. Of _course_ there would be two. Alex knew full well that Frances hoped that he would invite her to go to the ballet with him; thankfully, he also knew that she would never press the matter, beyond the second ticket's existence. With a sigh, he looked up the theatre in the West End where the ballet was playing and dialed the number on his mobile.

"Yes, I'd like to return two tickets for this Saturday, please," he said when a girl answered the line.

"Sure you don't want to exchange them?" she asked around her chewing gum. "It's a bloody good show, if you can make it another evening. Definitely not your gran's ballet."

Alex hesitated.

"How so?" he asked.

"I mean," the girl said, her shrug evident in her tone, "I don't even _like_ ballet, but this? It's got real _heart_ , you know? It's not just nice dancing, it's a story about people dealing with real shit. I might've cried a little at the end. Plus," she added, "the shirtless dancing men are a nice centrepiece to the whole evening."

Alex pressed his lips together, suppressing a sigh. He truly hated it when Frances was right about things, but his interest had certainly been piqued. Besides, a night out at the ballet was a classier date than Alex ever would have dreamt up on his own, and Danny _might_ be convinced if told that there would be shirtless dancing men.

"You know, let me see if I can make Saturday work," he told the girl.

"Good luck!" she replied cheerfully.

Danny greeted Alex with a kiss when he arrived at the flat that evening. Alex sank onto the sofa as Danny bustled about the kitchen, trying to find any teabags that might still be hidden in various tins.

"Are you free on Saturday?" he asked.

"Yeah," Danny answered, his head in a cupboard.

"Any interest in going to the ballet?" Alex asked.

Danny pulled his head out of the cupboard and shot Alex a bemused grin.

"What, like the _ballet_ ballet? Tutus and tights and all?"

"Apparently, this one's a bit different," Alex shrugged. "Sounds worth a go, from what I've heard."

Danny shrugged and, giving up on finding tea, dropped effortlessly onto the sofa next to Alex.

"I've never been to the ballet," he admitted. "Scottie offered to take me once, he's a fan. But I decided against it, at the last minute."

"I haven't been to one since I was small. I can't say I enjoyed it much. But someone gave me tickets to this one, and it might be worth revisiting the genre."

"Someone _gave_ you tickets to the ballet?!" Danny's eyebrows twitched upwards.

"Someone from work," Alex improvised.

It wasn't exactly a lie; Alex mentally categorised Frances under 'Work' instead of 'Family'. Danny, at any rate, seemed to accept the concept of Alex's rich investment banker coworkers throwing around unneeded and undoubtedly expensive ballet tickets.

"Well, I can make sure my only suit is washed and pressed before Saturday," he offered.

Alex, smiling, leaned forward and kissed Danny.

"If we absolutely hate it, we can leave at the interval," he promised as Danny snuggled against him.

* * *

They didn't leave at the interval. In fact, Alex remained in his seat for as long as it took for the crowds around them to file out of the rows of the theatre. Danny, recognising that Alex needed some silence to process things, waited patiently and said nothing.

By the time they'd finally emerged into the chilly night air, though, Danny clearly was itching to get some sort of insight into what was making Alex so introspective.

"All right, so maybe I do like ballet," he said finally. "That was _not_ what I was expecting. D'you think most modern ballet has that many shirtless blokes onstage?"

Alex smiled appreciatively and let Danny lean up against him, warm and affectionate, as they made their way down the street hand in hand. He agreed with Danny, it had been a truly spectacular and very unexpectedly moving performance. But Alex felt overwhelmed by just how strongly he related to the poor Prince at the centre of the story—a shy young man, thrust into a public service role (predetermined by his family's standing) that he did not wish to play, desperate to gain the approval of his emotionally cold mother, longing for just one friend in the world whom he could truly trust. The moment that the Swan had leapt onto the stage and into the Prince's life, saving the Prince from suicide, Alex had gasped. And he had felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes during the pas de deux between the Prince and the Swan, the gorgeous physical manifestation of their love. _I was that man. You were that someone._ Watching the two dancers onstage twist and leap about each other, understanding one another without a single word passing between them, Alex had automatically reached for Danny's hand and had held it for the rest of the act.

It didn't matter that everything had ended in tragedy. It didn't matter that the Swan was a very murky metaphor (was he a man? was he a bird? did it matter at all?). Alex had somehow seen his own recent history played out in fluid lines of motion this evening. He felt flush with the excitement of having been truly _understood_. He had only ever felt this way twice before. The first was in uni, when Marcus Shaw had presented Alex with a maths equation that he found truly challenging, and then complimented Alex for solving it after Alex had spent a week puzzling it out. The second was the day that he had jogged by Lambeth Bridge and found Danny Holt waiting there for him.

"Alex?" Danny's earnest voice jolted Alex out of his reverie. "You all right?"

And, once again, Alex _wished_ that he could tell Danny the truth. Because how could he explain half of what was making him reel at this moment? Danny would understand why Alex was the Prince, on some level; he had looked into the depths of Alex's soul and seen the sad, lonely boy trapped within, a genius with too much money and too few friends. But explaining the rest would require admitting to Danny that he had lied about critical facets of his life. MI6, for one thing, as the organisation that relentlessly forced him to keep up a façade before the rest of the world, day in and day out, demanding that he sacrifice his integrity for the well-being of the nation. His supposedly dead mother, for another, as the driving force behind Alex's professional success and personal misery.

(Alex couldn't help but wonder why Frances had given him tickets to _this_ show, of all the options on the West End. Surely, she couldn't know about Danny? Alex had no idea if Frances had ever even considered the possibility that he might be attracted to men; she had always been concerned exclusively with what he was doing with his mind, not with his body. Had Frances somehow had _predicted_ that Alex would relate to the Prince so strongly? And, if so, was this an admission on Frances's part that she was the icy Queen who rejected her son's pleas for affection, over and over? If so, Alex felt that Frances had gotten herself somewhat wrong; he couldn't imagine her ever mourning his death like the Queen had mourned her son's, and he _certainly_ couldn't imagine his chilly mother ever having been as promiscuous as the Queen. Still. If Frances had somehow known that this ballet would speak to Alex, in a way that she never could directly, then he had to give her more credit than he usually did—even if it still did rankle to admit just how right she had been, on this count.)

Danny was still waiting for an answer that Alex couldn't give, bobbing expectantly before Alex on the pavement, peering into Alex's face with concern. And Alex smiled, finally ready to pull himself from the darkness of his falsehoods and bask in Danny's light.

"I was just thinking," he said quietly. "About how you were my Swan."

Danny grinned and, flinging his arms above his head, attempted a clumsy pirouette that made him fall over. Alex caught him, laughing, and held Danny close.

"That's funny," Danny said. "Because I was about to say the same thing to you."

Alex breathed in the smell of Danny's hair, knowing that this was a moment that he would capture in his memory and replay in idle moments to come. The whispers were closing in around him; he knew that his work was sparking alarm, and not only within the walls of the SIS. Perhaps the next act of his life would be just as disorienting and horrifying as the second half of Bourne's _Swan Lake_ had been. But for this moment in time, he and Danny were the Prince and his Swan, dancing their pas de deux in the moonlight, the brilliance of their love momentarily blocking out the shadows of London looming all around them. And at least for tonight, Alex chose to believe that the music would never end and the dance would continue on forever.


End file.
